


A Little Bit of Voodoo in You

by adaille



Series: Dean’s decisions get him in trouble [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Feathers & Featherplay, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 20:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14797415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaille/pseuds/adaille
Summary: Dean discovers something other than metal works on voodoo dolls.###The air was heavy with incense, burning Dean’s nose and making him sneeze, and sneeze again. When he straightened to search among the small glass vials and crystals, something cold ghosted against his rib cage.It felt strange. Dangerous, but...erotic?“Hey Sammy, you sure we didn’t miss a witch? I swear I felt something brush against me just now.”





	A Little Bit of Voodoo in You

**Author's Note:**

> I tagged this as dubcon because technically Cas touches Dean without asking in the last two scenes, but Dean is absolutely on board.

The air was heavy with incense, burning Dean’s nose and making him sneeze, and sneeze again. When he straightened to search among the small glass vials and crystals, something cold ghosted against his rib cage.

It felt strange. Dangerous, but...erotic?

“Hey Sammy, you sure we didn’t miss a witch? I swear I felt something brush against me just now.”

“Yeah, man, I think you probably felt my ring when I picked this thing up. Look like anyone you know?”

Sam moved from the back room to join Dean, holding up a small, coarsely sewn doll. A doll wearing a rough impression of a coat that looked like it was made out of that bit of fabric he’d torn loose in Wichita, running after a werewolf last month.

A doll that looked like it had hair that might’ve been made out of his hair.

“Ew, shit. Is that a voodoo doll made out of...me?”

“You tell me.” Sam picked up a pin and held it over the doll.

“Hey, no, stop that. I said quit it!” Dean grabbed for the doll, his ring scraping against the seam where its legs were sewn to its torso. He shrieked at the icy sensation in his groin, dropping it to the floor. “Dude, what the hell?”

“Metal, Dean. Your ring, my ring, they’re metal. Pins, anything like that, they hit the doll, you’ll feel it.”

“No shit, Sammy, I know how voodoo works.”

“Give it here, I’ll pack it up and call Rowena when we get back. Should be a way to safely dismantle it without hurting you.”

Dean picked it up, ‘accidentally’ brushing his ring against the doll’s groin again, and had to bite the inside of his cheek to stifle a moan. His latest dry spell had lasted way too long. Even his hand hadn’t felt the same, not when he wanted another hand, rough and wide and almost as large as his own, blue eyes dark and blown wide when -

“Dean?”

He shoved the doll in his duffle, making sure to keep it away from anything metal. “Yeah, no, I got it, man. My doll, my problem.”

“You’re going to call Rowena?” Sam gave him a scowl, his brow a decent impression of Cas.

“Maybe. Uh, I mean, I’m gonna look in the archives first. You know, I’m sure there’s books on this shit. Google probably knows, to be honest.”

“You’re volunteering for research.”

“Hey, I’m smart too, Sammy. Stuff it.”

“Whatever, Dean.”

When all else failed, there was one sure-fire way to get rid of his brother. Dean waggled his eyebrows and smirked. “You know, if they wanted my DNA, all they had to do was - “

Sam disappeared into the other room, a finger raised over his shoulder as he went.

#

Dean did, in fact do research on the doll.

Of a sort.

Physically on the doll.

If iron touched the bundle of sewn fabric, he felt it. Same with copper. And zinc. And brass. Any and all metals seemed to work, but they were so...cold. Hard.

He glanced over at the small box sitting on the top of his dresser. _What about - no. Not testing that._

Stone didn’t work, nor did wood.

He eyed the box on his dresser again.

_No._

His skin obviously had no impact. Neither did any sort of fabric; it didn’t seem to matter if the material was natural or synthetic. Anything plastic was useless as well.

Dean lifted the lid of the box on his dresser, toying with the feather inside. He’d kept it after Cas had donated several small ones for a spell, and they’d had one leftover. He’d told Sam he was going to add it to the other ingredients in storage, but he’d brought it to his room.

He didn’t really have a reason at the time, but he liked to pull it out from time to time, watch the inky blues and greens flare iridescent in the light.

Something from an angel, it ought to impact the doll, right? Earth magic versus heaven’s grace and all that jazz?

He shoved it back in the box, twisting the latch locked for good measure.

So. Anything metal. That was good enough. He picked up the doll, and slid a ring off, pinching it between his fingers.

Door was locked, he was in his boxers. Nothing wrong with a little assisted self-stimulation, was there?

#

Five days and three ring-assisted orgasms later, and Dean discovered that angel feathers did in fact impact the doll.

Not only that, but the sensation was at least twelve times more intense. More pleasurable. Warm, silky.

He rubbed the feather softly against the doll, shivering and shaking at the sensation skating over his body, almost like feathers were really touching and wrapping around him. Almost like Cas was in the room, those big shadowy wings flaring wide, then folding over him, cuddling him. If he closed his eyes -

The feather flicked the doll’s groin, and he came with a shout that sounded suspiciously like Cas’s name.

#

Two weeks and eight feather-assisted orgasms later, and Dean discovered that breaking the surface of the doll’s fabric with the shaft of the feather didn’t hurt the way metal pins did. It felt hot and searing like grace.

It only followed, from a scientific perspective of course, to try breaking the surface of the doll’s fabric where the little mouth-line was sewn on.

He groaned at the feeling of the shaft forcing his lips open, sliding across his tongue. Dropping to his knees on the floor and closing his eyes was a...logical next step. Pretending the sensations from the soft press and pull of the shaft in the doll were caused by a certain blue-eyed servant of heaven using his mouth was...something else entirely. Something he didn’t want to name.

When he came after accidentally forcing the feather too deeply into the doll’s ‘throat’, he shut both the doll and the feather in the box, careful not to touch them together.

#

Dean was having a shit day.

He could use a hug, but he and Sam weren’t exactly good right this second, and anyway, Sam wasn’t the one he wanted a hug from. He hadn’t seen Cas in over a week, and he wasn’t about to harass the angel to come visit for something that stupid.

If he moved the feather to blanket the doll’s back inside the box, then went to watch tv while pretending Cas was next to him with an arm draped over his shoulders, well, that was his own business.

#

If he went to sleep after adjusting the doll, and pretended there was a wing half-smothering him in his sleep, that was also his own business.

#

If he fucked the doll with the shaft of the feather until he came untouched with a scream so loud Sam knocked on his door to check on him, once again, it was no one’s concern but his own.

#

Dean had been told he had a tendency to take things too far, and not just by Sam. Those people were probably right. Sam usually was, at any rate.

That knowledge didn’t stop Dean from leaving the feather’s shaft inside the little doll, shutting it safely in the box on his dresser, and going to cook Sam dinner, pleasantly full.

If Sam noticed him humming, his brother didn’t say a word.

#

It quickly became a habit. It grounded him, having a little bit of something in him to take the edge off. He liked it, the submissive undertones; it scratched an itch that didn’t often get scratched.

He only indulged in the bunker, and Sam was none the wiser. It wasn’t hurting anyone, and the orgasms he’d been having over the last month were nothing short of amazing.

The next time Cas came to visit, he’d have to find an excuse to ask for a second feather. Maybe a third. Simulate a pair of wings on either side of him while the original feather was, well. Otherwise occupied.

#

Dean was singing Hey, Jude in the kitchen, sliding around on his sock feet as he made an apple pie. The feather was firmly in the doll, and the stretch and burn was a pleasant pain as he worked.

He heard the bunker door close, and Sam call his name.

“In here, Sammy!”

Sam’s voice came back muffled. Was he asking Dean to come in there, or...talking to himself?

“Just a second, lemme get this in the - “

“Dean.”

That voice wasn’t Sam, that was -

The owner of the feather. In the doorway to the kitchen. Dean flushed. “Heya, Cas. I didn’t know you were coming home with - “

“Dean, are you alright?” Cas squinted at him, the intensity greater than usual, tinged with...concern?

He laughed nervously. “Heh, yeah, Cas, ‘m fine. Peachy keen.”

The angel circled him, still staring. “Dean, you have witch’s magic on you.” He tilted his head, calculating. “In you.”

 _Shit_. “What? No.”

“Yes. Here.”

Cas reached towards the seat of his pants, and Dean twisted away.

“Hey, buy a guy dinner first, man. Hands off the goods.”

“Dean, let me see.”

 _Fuck fuck fuck._ Not good. That voice, Cas crowding him, all while he was stretched full. The feelings turned electric, his soft cock suddenly taking interest.

There was only one thing he could do.

He ran.

#

_Shit._

_Fuck._

_Shit fuck shit._

_Shitfuckshitshitfuck._

He had to get it out. Right now.

Dean scurried down the hall, pulling his door mostly closed behind him, and made a beeline for the box on his dresser. He was fumbling inside the box when -

Cas stepped close behind him, gripping the tops of Dean’s arms tight enough to bruise. He’d seen, there was no way he hadn’t seen. Dean whimpered.

“Cas, shit, I’m sor - “

Cas interrupted him with a low growl, close enough to Dean’s ear for him to break out in shivers.

“Would you like to try something larger than a feather, Dean?”

As it happened, Dean would.

#

He was in the shower when he felt it again. A ghost of sensation sliding down his body, flicking at his groin, heat and electricity trailing in its wake. He groaned as the sensation narrowed to a point, tracing all over his limbs, his nipples, his lips, his neck. Nowhere was safe.

He was a shuddering, sobbing mess by the time the blunt sensation penetrated him, thicker and longer than the feather in his box.

It stayed inside, unmoving, and he humped the air, desperate by the time it finally thrusted deep, brushing his prostate over and over with an unfailing accuracy he hadn’t had when he played with the doll by himself.

When he finally came back to himself after spilling over the wall in the shower, he went to his room.

There was a second, larger feather in the box.

He was in a lot of trouble.

#

The next time he felt it, he was watching Finding Nemo in the living area while Sam read nearby, only half watching the movie with him.

He tried to keep still, but holding his muscles rigid only heightened his awareness of the sensations flicking everywhere on his body. Before long, he was squirming, trying to decide if he should stay or make a run for it and hope Sam wouldn’t notice the state he was in when he stood up. The sensations slowed, then stopped completely, but it was too late.

“Dude, you sitting on an ant bed?” His brother didn’t look up.

Dean tried to answer, he did. But it came out as a strangled squawk, drawing a squint and closer scrutiny from Sam.

“Ew, Dean, seriously? I know you said you loved that fish, but to a kid’s cartoon? I’m sitting right here!”

He flushed, and the sensation blanketed his shoulders, grounding him. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Sammy.”

“Yeah, whatever, Dean.”

His brother stalked out, and the stroking started back, gentle at first, then insistent, then blissful.

When he made it back to his room, the doll was gone from the box.

‘Trouble’ might not quite cover it.


End file.
